


It's a Moon Thing

by hermionesmydawg



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Casual Sex, French Sandwich, Fuckbuddies, Kinktober, M/M, Multi, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Rimming, Samwich, Switch Sam Wilson, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 18:37:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8256220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermionesmydawg/pseuds/hermionesmydawg
Summary: So it's not like Sam is charting this moon shit. At least, not at first. See it goes like this - full moon Steve's horny as shit, new moon he's a ragey little bitch, the waning cycles are emotional, and the waxing he is just his normal sassy self. Without even looking back at records, Sam knows now that he met Steve during a waxing crescent and the Winter Soldier reared his messy head during waning gibbous.Sam's practically an astronomer now, for fuck's sake.Captain Hornball pops up again, right on schedule, and Sam decides to do something about it.***In which Sam Wilson discovers the effects of the moon on enhanced super-soldiers and has a lot of sex thanks to it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was just really in the mood for a Samwich.

Sam Wilson learns pretty quickly that Steve Rogers is not some run-of-the-mill soldier. By run-of-the-mill, he means normal. By normal, he means sane. The dude is something else.   
  
It's not until they start spending time, a lot of time, together that Sam begins to follow the patterns. Predict the unpredictable. Anticipate the goddamn fuckery.   
  
Steve is rage. Steve is emotion. Steve is a walking hard-on.   
  
It's the night of one of Stark's celebratory parties when Sam's suspicions are confirmed. Yeah,  _ that _ one, with Ultron and all the ensuing bullshit.   
  
Steve is drinking some of Thor's Asgardian mead, and unlike regular alcohol, it actually has an effect on his behavior. He and Sam are playing pool, just being bros or whatever the fuck they are to each other, when Steve levels a gaze full of intention at him. "Can I ask you something, Sam?"   
  
"Never stopped you before," he answers. Because Steve is also lacking a mouth filter.   
  
Steve licks his lips, sucks the bottom one between his teeth, and tilts his head. Well, fuck. "What is your type?"   
  
Seems innocent, vague enough to not be pointed, except his stupid blue eyes say  _ who do you like to fuck? _

  
Sam gulps. Has he had enough cognac for this shit? Probably not. He downs the contents of his tumbler in one swallow and responds just as vaguely. "I'm not picky."   
  
"Interesting." Steve returns to the game, saying nothing else on the subject. He proceeds to kick Sam's ass, of course. Fuck that guy. Sam excuses himself, and he's fairly certain that Steve is watching his ass like he wants to devour it when he walks away.   
  
It's a nice, no,  _ great _ ass, but still. They're in public, Cap.   
  
If anyone would understand otherworldly behavior, it would be someone from another world, right? Sam and Thor aren't tight, but neither one has ever met a stranger in their life, so it's worth a shot. He approaches the demi-god and listens to the tail-end of a rousing story about the Adventures of Mjolnir, waiting for the audience to disperse before making his presence known. "Hey Thor, great story."   
  
"Falcon!" Thor claps Sam on the shoulder with a giant-ass paw. "You are empty-handed, we must remedy this!"   
  
"Nah, man, I'm good." Sam holds his empty hands in the air. "If you could share some wisdom, though."   
  
"Not to brag, but I am rich in knowledge," Thor boasts, winking. "Ask and I shall impart my wisdom."   
  
To be honest, sometimes Thor sounds like a Shakespearean play. Or a cartoon. But whatever. "Cap is enhanced, right? With his super-soldier serum. Is it..." Sam tries to think of the best way to phrase this. "Of this world? Or  _ your _ world?"   
  
Thor taps a godly finger to his chin in contemplation. "Well, friend, I was not present at its creation but I can assure you that our good Captain is 100% of this world. Is there a particular reason for this curiosity?"   
  
"You know how we, humans I mean, have a circadian rhythm?" Sam cuts his eyes in Steve's direction. Steve is watching him like a hunter stalking his prey. Fucking hell. "Well, Steve has a whole other type of rhythm. Not daily, more like monthly. And it's not erratic, either, his shifts are precise and predictable, like there is some sort of force that controls his patterns."   
  
"Fascinating," Thor hums.   
  
"We spend a lot of time together," Sam says, as if he needs to have an explanation for why he notices these things.   
  
"Obviously." Thor takes a sip - gulp - of mead. "It could be a moon thing."   
  
Sam blinks. Moon thing? How un-Thor like of an explanation. "Like. Werewolf moon thing?"   
  
"Precisely. Except not. Our friend is enhanced in every aspect of his being. It's possible that the pull of your planet's moon has a greater effect on him than mere mortals like yourself. Some call such things superstition, but they are also the same naysayers who would believe that I do not exist. Tell me, Sam. What is the behavior that led you to inquire about this?"   
  
"Well." Sam looks out the massive wall of windows to the moon, full and bright over the city lights. "I think a fair assessment of his current behavior would be that he wants to fuck me raw."   
  
"Ah, yes, well. It is a full moon, isn't it?" Thor raises his glass with a smile. "Cheers! Happy fucking, Falcon friend."   
  
Sam...he's just got no response to that.   
  
Thor leaves him then to sneak up on Bruce, which seems like a horrible fucking idea but...oh well. And Steve has moved on from pool, so for a moment Sam has one of those experiences where he questions his presence in this gaudy eyesore of a building, surrounded by actual superheroes. It passes, and he reminds himself of things he knows to be true - he belongs, he is welcome, and he is goddamn super himself.   
  
The shit hits the fan before Sam ever gets to ask Steve if he knows anything about lunar cycles. Whether he knows about them or not, his patterns remain the same.   


 

* * *

  
  
So it's not like Sam is charting this moon shit. At least, not at first. The month post-Ultron is a little off. More emotional days, less rage ones. Sam can still read Steve like a book, though.   
  
By the time waning gibbous rolls around - okay, fine, he is considering charting it - Steve is back on schedule. See, it goes like this - full moon he's horny as shit, new moon he's a ragey little bitch, the waning cycles are emotional, and the waxing he is just his normal sassy self. Without even looking back at records, Sam knows now that he met Steve during a waxing crescent and the Winter Soldier reared his messy head during waning gibbous.   
  
Sam's practically an astronomer now, for fuck's sake.   
  
Captain Hornball pops up again, right on schedule, and Sam decides to do something about it.   
  
"Have you considered dating?"   
  
Steve raises an eyebrow. "What is that, a twenty-first century thing?"   
  
Correction - no matter what the fucking moon does, Steve Rogers is a sasshole.   
  
They're in Nebraska of all places, because even wholesome corn-fed folk end up with weird-ass alien type shit from time to time. Sam is sharing a hotel room with Steve, mostly due to a room shortage based on the increased interest in the area's extraterrestrial activity. It's annoying. Steve doesn't sleep.    
  
"I'm just saying-"   
  
"And I'm just saying," Steve interrupts, "that Nat has tried this. I don't -  _ can't _ \- can't date. It doesn't work."   
  
And Sam gets it. Man out of time with no free time. But still. "Well, what about a fuck buddy? What I was trying to say before you so rudely interrupted me is that you have a lot of pent up energy. Don't ask how I know, I just do."   
  
There's that fucking eyebrow again. "My list of non-fuck buddies is short and you're at the top of it. Are you offering? Because if you're not, then you're just becoming more of a problem than a solution right now."   
  
"I'm-" This is an actual freeze frame moment. Is he offering? Pros/cons?    
  
Pros - get laid, make Steve chill the fuck out, and oh yeah,  _ get laid _ . It's been a while.   
  
Cons - awkward. Also, super-soldier, so potentially dangerous.   
  
"I'm offering," Sam says. It's his duty as a patriot, really.    
  
Steve nods, standing up from the beat-up loveseat in their hotel room. "I'll consider it. I'm going for a run. Need anything while I'm out?"   
  
"Um. No?" Sam knows this is just an avoidance technique. It's okay. He tried. The whole thing just screamed horrible idea anyway. It's for the best.   
  
At least, this is what he thought until he felt his bed dip under the weight of freedom and justice somewhere around midnight. "Sam?"   
  
Grunt.   
  
"Are you awake?"   
  
Louder grunt.   
  
"I accept your offer, if it still stands."   
  
Oh. Fuck. "Still stands," Sam mumbles.   
  
"Tell me if I'm too rough with you."   
  
Sam's not awake enough to come up with a proper response. What is even happening? "Okay?"   
  
And then the covers are flying and his sweatpants and boxer briefs get forcefully stripped from his body. Okay, so it's like that then. Sam's not even hard yet but Steve swallows him into his mouth anyway, 'cause apparently he's got a ways to go to catch up to Steve's super-soldier level of horniness.   
  
"Shit," Sam groans. Steve's always run a little hotter than a normal human, but for some reason the correlation between that and the inside of his mouth never occurred to him before now. The warmth is almost too much, but let's be honest, Sam kinda likes to toe the Too Much line whenever possible. He tries to take hold of Steve's hair but his hands are caught mid air and pressed firmly to the mattress.   
  
Basically, Steve's in charge, and Sam is loving this way more than he ever expected.    
  
The red neon Hotel sign casts a flickering glow through a crack in the curtains. Sam focuses on that instead of the burning in his wrists, the lightheaded happiness taking over his mind, or the wicked moans coming from Steve's mouth every time his cock bumps against the back of his throat. Like it feels  _ good _ to him.   
  
And where the fuck did Captain America learn to suck dick, because he's pretty damn good at it.   
  
Sam gasps, "Steve," because the red is burning into his brain and he can't block everything out much longer. "I think I'm gonna-"   
  
The pressure on his wrists releases and Steve sits up with a start, a cold rush from the blasting window unit quickly replacing the intense warmth. "No, you won't," he says. Captain's orders, more like. His fucking lips are red and shiny and it's the absolute worst thing Sam's ever seen in his life.    
  
Sam nods mutely, trying his best not to thrust into the gap between their bodies. Steve is still clothed, like an asshole. Shocking. "You just gonna stare? 'Cause I could give you a good show, if you let me."   
  
Steve's eyes flash. He grins, grabbing Sam by the hips and flipping him onto his stomach, then pulls him up to his knees. Being tossed around like he's weightless has never,  _ ever _ happened in his life. Add that to the list of awesome things about fucking a super-soldier.   
  
"Are fuck buddies not allowed to admire each other?" Steve smirks against the base of Sam's spine.    
  
Sam shivers. "Admire, but don't ogle. Makes it awkward."   
  
"Hmm. I'll try my best." Steve sinks his teeth into the flesh of his hip, tormenting Sam with nips and bites across his backside. Sam knows he's got a healthy sized ass, and Steve appreciates every inch of it before spreading his cheeks and devouring him like a starved man.    
  
Sam drops his face into the pillow. He thinks about frustrating dead end searches, long nights chilling at the Tower, patching up each other's wounds. He thinks being reduced to a sobbing mess by his partner might make things awkward, ogling or not, and that's what's happening at the moment.   
  
Sam Wilson is not gonna fucking cry with Captain America's tongue in his ass, goddammit.   
  
He prays on his hands and knees, literally, for stamina and endurance in these troubling times. For some sort of reprieve so he doesn't come untouched and disappoint his Captain, no,  _ friend _ . Fuck. Steve's in his head, he's dominating, he's worshipping, and Sam needed it. Wanted it before, maybe. Platonically, of course.   
  
"Sam?" Steve's naked now, somehow. He drapes himself over Sam's back, all soft skin and hard muscle, like a friendly blanket with a raging hard-on. He asks sweetly, "Can I fuck you?"   
  
"Hnngg," is Sam's only word, but he nods yes. Then Steve is prepping them both, and where did he even get lube and condoms? Is this some sort of dream that sex-deprived people experience?   
  
Steve slides inside him with little warning, squeezing his hand under Sam to stroke him. It's slow and torturous and amazing, but also  _ seriously _ . Sam needs to know where this guy learned to fuck, he was frozen for seventy years and before that lived in an era full of prudes. What the hell?   
  
"Okay." The tone of Steve's voice is different now, commanding but soft and strained. He thrusts harder and faster, still fiery hot but now Sam is accustomed to it, appreciates it as something distinctly Steve. "Now you can come."   
  
Sam briefly wonders what other dirty things Steve might be prompted to say before his body wins the fight against his mind, spilling his seed over the cheap sheets of the hotel bed as he jerks his hips into Steve's fist.   
  
And then proceeds to black out.   
  
He wakes in the morning, clean and moved to the other bed. Steve's munching on a scone and reading the newspaper. A paper cup with gas station coffee sits on the nightstand next to him.    
  
"Morning," Steve says, as if he didn't fuck him into another dimension the night before.   
  
Sam blinks sleepily. Light bruises circle his wrists and hips. Whoa. "You wanna talk about this?"   
  
Steve rolls his eyes. "And you told me not to make it awkward. Fuck. Buddies."   
  
"How do you even know what a fuck buddy is, Cap?"   
  
He shrugs. "Natasha." Because, of course. He rolls up the paper and taps Sam on the foot. "Thanks, by the way. I actually feel a lot better. Amazing, even."   
  
Sam mumbles to himself and covers his face with a pillow. Yeah, okay. He feels a hell of a lot better, too.   


 

* * *

  
  
Sam knows all about that romcom cliche, where friends agree to have sex, no strings attached, and then fall in love. So imagine his surprise when it....doesn't...happen.   
  
The thing with him and Steve is literally just occasional, no strings attached sex. Well, except for that one time Steve asked to tie him up after a mission that left him feeling a little out of control of too many aspects in his life. That sort of counts as strings attached. It was all good though, Sam's pretty much down - up - for anything.   
  
It's not like he doesn't love Steve Rogers. He does, with all his heart. But he doesn't wanna marry the guy or adopt pretty babies with him. With Steve, Sam is either ready to die for him or kill him, a blend that works well for a partnership but maybe not a relationship. Obviously Steve feels the same way. He still flirts - poorly - with people, even makes out or more with them on occasion. And Sam just does what he does, which is hold everyone to a standard too high to ever be met and then question why he is still alone. Whatever. It's  _ fine _ .   
  
The sex is great when life is good. It also helps when life is bad. Or when shit hits the fan. When Steve loses Peggy but they find his long lost best friend (who is the actual  _ worst _ ) and Sam ends up in an underwater prison. When they lose their home and identities and everything but each other. That’s a lot of shit and a lot of sex.

Then after all of that, they're in a place where they're welcome but don't belong. And now Sam doesn't just have one super-soldier to deal with. He has  _ two _ .   


 

* * *

  
  
Bucky.   
  
He's kind of an asshole.   
  
Just when Sam has finally figured out the ins and outs of Steve's moods and routines - and really, he didn't sign up for that in the first place - now he has a completely different lunar schedule to learn. Or else, possibly get himself killed.   
  
Not really, though. If it weren't for his smart mouth, Bucky'd actually be easier to deal with than Steve. He's less...he's just  _ less _ . And he has no raging bitch cycle during the new moon. Instead, he withdraws, hides, and Sam welcomes the douchey remarks from him on those days. At least it's something.    
  
Steve and Bucky don't always get along that great, either. Best friends since childhood and all that shit, but that didn't stop them from straight up brawling in the kitchen one morning, with Steve being the victor. Sam's pretty sure the fight was about orange juice. Then Bucky got his replacement prosthetic the next week. He came home and immediately socked Steve in the jaw, because why the hell not start this fight up again.   
  
All things considered, Bucky and Sam get along pretty well.    


 

* * *

  
  
Sam feels really on edge when Steve starts getting that look in his eyes again. It's normal for them, or  _ was _ normal pre-Bucky, but now? Sam's not sure what he's more anxious about - Bucky finding out about them or Steve thinking his old pal might be a better fit for his frustrations. It's ridiculous.  _ He's  _ ridiculous.   
  
They've been in Wakanda for two months now. The first full moon there, Bucky was still in cryo and Steve was still depressed that Bucky was in cryo. But now everyone is awake and warm and at their fighting weight and Sam has no fucking clue what Bucky's going to do during the full moon. Maybe he actually turns into a werewolf.   
  
Steve, on the other hand. He corners Sam in the hallway, shoving him into the bathroom. Within minutes he has his mouth on Sam's neck, one hand clamped over his mouth, and the other wrapped around both of their cocks, stroking in tandem. It's not a race, but Steve finishes in first place anyway.   
  
Sam eyes Steve as he turns on the shower. "That felt even more wham, bam, thank you Sam than usual."   
  
"I know. Sorry." Steve smiles and almost looks embarrassed. Like he has something to say but doesn't want to.  _ Fuck _ .   
  
"What is it?" Sam huffs. "I know you. You're about to tell me something bad. Spit it out."   
  
Then Steve kisses him gently. This news must be really, really bad. "The U.N. is rewriting the Accords, with more representatives involved this time. The first session is in Nairobi," he says. "T'Challa wants me to go with him."   
  
And leave him here to babysit the Bucky. Fuck everything. "When?"   
  
"Tomorrow," Steve answers apologetically. This man has the actual worst timing in the fucking world.   
  
The next morning, Steve leaves and Sam just sips his coffee while Bucky eats his cereal. Oat Bran with loads of granulated sugar dumped on top of it, because he's half geriatric and half adolescent. Apparently Sam watches his housemate a little too intently because Bucky mumbles over his spoon, "I got something on my face?"   
  
"Too much hair and a perpetual scowl," Sam remarks.   
  
Bucky smiles, not smirks, actually smiles. Then he rinses his bowl and puts it in the actual dishwasher, which he hasn't done a single goddamn day since he moved in with them. Weird.   
  
It gets weirder. Bucky goes to the market and comes back with oatmeal cookies, Sam's favorite. He tidies up the house. Cooks curry for dinner, halfway decent curry, then cleans the kitchen afterwards. Sam's stuck in another  _ what the fuck is happening _ dimension all over again.   
  
"Why are you being so nice?" Sam asks after Bucky plops onto the couch, set for the evening with a book and soft pajamas.   
  
Bucky shrugs. "I...want to?"   
  
Sam rubs his temples. "Okay then, why are you usually such a contrary little shit?"   
  
Bucky opens his book, shrugs again. "You're cute when you're angry."   
  
Oh God. Different story, same ending. It's okay, though. This Bucky is sweet and giving and, Sam hates that he thinks this way, pliant. Not that Steve isn't giving, 'cause  _ damn _ he is, but if the reformed Winter Soldier is gonna hit on him, he'd rather have pliant than dominant.   
  
"Could you hand me the remote?" Sam asks, testing his little theory. The remote is on the end table right beside him, and he more than deserves a "get it your own damn self" from Bucky.   
  
But instead Bucky laughs, practically crawling over him to grab it. "Are you blind? It's right here."   
  
Interesting. Sam tries not to let it fuck with his head that Bucky spent seventy years following orders. He's his own man now, he's free to make his own choices. And if his choice is doing whatever will make Sam happy...no.    
  
Sam sighs. He's just not the type of guy to even consider taking advantage of someone and he knows it. "This isn't you, Barnes. I can't...let you be nice to me."   
  
Bucky quirks an eyebrow curiously and says nothing.   
  
"Look, there's this whole thing with the moon and the serum, and it changes people," Sam continues. It sounds like nonsense but fuck it. "It's a full moon right now, which means Steve's dick is basically a jackhammer and you obviously become a submissive puppy dog."   
  
Bucky looks around the room, like he's on candid camera or something, before responding. "Sam. I know."   
  
"You...know? About the lunar shit."   
  
"I know about the lunar shit." Bucky smirks. "Steve's always been a dramatic little shit, probably why he never noticed the mood swings, but I did."   
  
Sam puckers his lips. "Huh. How 'bout that."   
  
"You think I'm a submissive puppy?" Bucky's gray eyes are bright with mischief as he slides closer to Sam on the couch.    
  
"An exaggeration," Sam says slowly, willing his fucking dick to calm the hell down. It's like he's becoming one of them or something.   
  
Bucky licks his lips. "What if it's not?"   
  
Shit, fuck, Sam is so fucked right now. "Well, you don't bark and I think you're housebroken, so-"   
  
"Are you and Steve together?"    
  
Sam really hates Bucky's voice. It's soft and smooth and gruff and gravelly all at the same time.    
  
Sam really hates Bucky's hair, and his face. Eyes. Lips. He's so pretty, and he just really hates everything about him.    
  
Sam really hates that he's 110% sure that he's gonna fuck him.   
  
"No," he answers, because it's true. Steve said so himself.   
  
Bucky grabs his hand and drags him to Sam's room, completely leaving Sam's morals and conscience in the living room. Bucky immediately drops to his knees, staring up with heavy-lidded eyes. Asking for permission. Sam can't stop himself from running his fingers through Bucky's hair, and fights off the urge to praise him when he melts into the touch.   
  
When did he become this person? He's a super-soldier fucker. What the shit?   
  
It's for a noble cause, he reasons. James Barnes is the longest known prisoner of war, who had his identity, agency, country stolen from him. If he wants to do this, and Sam wants to do this, what's the harm?   
  
That's totally Sam's dick talking, by the way.   
  
"Bucky." The name feels foreign coming from his lips, something that he hears all the time but never says himself. This isn't Steve, who he knows like the back of his hand. Bucky is more like an unknown element waiting to be discovered. Could be volatile, could be harmless. Don't know which until you handle it, though.   
  
Bucky smiles up at him expectantly. "Sammy," he says, and that has no effect on Sam whatsoever. None. At  _ all _ .   
  
Sam gently tugs Bucky's hair, urging him to stand again. The little whimper at the hair pulling isn't lost on him. Also no effect. Nope. Sam blows out a big puff of air and squeezes Bucky's cheeks between his palms. His lips are puffed out and he looks ridiculous and cute. "Seriously, though, when was the last time somebody touched you in a good way?"   
  
"I dunno," Bucky mumbles. "A long time."   
  
"Yeah, I figured," Sam sighs. "Compromise. You can do your cute subby stuff but we go slow, okay? Not that I'm scared of you using my face as a handle again, I'm not, I'm just saying. Play it safe."   
  
Bucky wrinkles his nose. "I don't know how many times you've had sex but there's not usually this much talking."   
  
"Oh, shut up," Sam growls, pulling Bucky's face to his for what he planned to be a soft, chaste kiss. Playing it safe and all that. But Bucky tastes good, sweet like honey, and he smells like cinnamon and nutmeg, and Sam picked tonight of all nights to skip dessert. Now he's famished and if he's not careful he'll eat Bucky alive. He draws Bucky's bottom lip into his mouth, nipping gently. "For all intents and purposes, I still hate you," he feels the need to say, why, he doesn't know.   
  
"You got a funny way of showing it," Bucky remarks, mimicking Sam's move on his bottom lip. He bites a little too hard, then licks it to make up for it. It's good, all good. "I really like kissing you, could we do it naked though?"   
  
"Uh, yeah." Safe and naked are not mutually exclusive, obviously. They separate long enough to yank their shirts and pants off, then Sam pushes Bucky onto the bed. He climbs on top of him, flattening himself like a human blanket. Bucky sighs contentedly, and Sam thinks,  _ yeah _ . Skin to skin contact for someone who's probably touch-starved has to be pretty amazing.   
  
For a hot second Sam's boner and brain have an argument, and shockingly, his brain wins. "You wanna just do this for a while?"   
  
"Naked kissing?" Bucky's kissing his chin and neck with both arms wrapped around Sam's waist. It strikes him then Bucky is not like Steve at all - he's cool to the touch, the winter to Steve's summer.   
  
"Naked kissing," Sam confirms. He untucks the covers, cuts the lights, and that's how they fall asleep - kissing nice and slow, until the gasps turn to sighs and the sighs to snores.   


 

* * *

  
  
Of course, Sam awakes with a start right around that time in the morning when it's not dark but it's not light, because sleep just...it doesn't always come easy. Something cold is tracing the curve of his hip. It's strange but not unpleasant at all.   
  
Oh, yeah. He's naked. With  _ Bucky _ . God.   
  
"You're kinda beautiful," Bucky says, his voice thick with sleep. "Like a rare, exotic bird."   
  
Sam throws his arm over his eyes. "Thanks for reminding me that you're gonna be an asshole again in a coupla days."   
  
"Yeah, well." Bucky shrugs. "You can just remember what my smart mouth looked like swallowing your cock when I start to get on your nerves."   
  
Oh  _ damn _ . "How can I remember something that never happened?"   
  
Bucky hums, gliding his metal hand over to cup Sam's balls. Also strange, also pretty damn pleasant. Sam wonders what those fingers taste like, what they'd feel like inside of him, if maybe Bucky fingers himself while thinking about Sam when he's locked away in his room. His xenophilic tendencies are becoming more apparent than ever, and at this rate he may never be satisfied fucking a "normal" human ever again.   
  
Sam smells just a hint of mint, then tastes it when Bucky tries to lick into his mouth. Toothpaste,  _ his _ toothpaste to be exact. "How long have you been awake?"   
  
"Long enough," Bucky answers. He crawls under the covers and pops his head out with a devilish smile, resting his chin on Sam's pelvis.    
  
This guy...Sam doesn't know how to even begin to handle this guy. He sits up on his elbows. "Long enough for what?"   
  
Bucky licks his lips, biting the lower one anxiously. "Can I blow you before I answer that question?"   
  
"Uh, yeah,  _ okay _ ." Like somebody is going to say no to that?   
  
Seriously though, where did Steve and Bucky learn how to fuck? Did Peggy Carter have a finishing school for pretty soldiers where they mastered the fine art of sucking cock? Sam needs to know this, because the way Bucky cradles his dick and slowly licks around the head while maintaining eye contact is downright pornographic. The long hair tickling his waist as he envelopes him completely is beautiful and filthy. And the way his Adam's apple bulges when he hits the back of his throat is the most fucking obscene thing he's ever seen in his life.   
  
"Jesus Christ," Sam mumbles. He can't tear his eyes away, watching those pretty lips stretch around his length, and God yes, this image will definitely go a long way in helping Sam tolerate Bucky. "I still...long enough for what?" His voice cracks as he asks again.   
  
Bucky pouts, pulling his mouth away in an agonizingly slow fashion. Squeezing Sam's thighs together, he climbs atop them and leans forward, nudging their noses together. "I got myself ready for you."   
  
Sam didn't get nearly enough sleep for his brain to process that in its entirety, and it’s a damn shame 'cause wow, just the mental image of that. He gulps. "You want me to fuck you?"   
  
"Please?" Bucky whispers, grinding his hips against Sam's erection. "It's been a long time but you're good, you're just always so damn  _ good _ Sammy, let me be good to you for once."   
  
Does he even have condoms in his room? Nightstand - check. Yes, condoms. Thanks T'Challa, for thinking ahead when stocking their safehouse. "Yeah, okay," Sam murmurs. He can play along. "I want you to be real good for me, baby."   
  
Sam can barely control his hips, hands, mouth, anything as Bucky slowly guides himself onto Sam's cock. Bucky's shaking and flushed but God, it hasn't just been a long time for Bucky. Sam's forgotten how intense it can be, to be inside someone and elicit goddamn filthy moans with just the roll of his hips. Bucky's so tight that Sam can barely breathe and feels so good that he thinks it might just be okay if fucking the Winter Soldier is his cause of death.   


 

* * *

  
  
Three days.   
  
That's all it takes for Bucky to toss his cereal bowl in the sink before sulking off to the living room, same as before.   
  
Oh well.   


 

* * *

  
  
"I just don't think I can do it."   
  
Steve's back. He's talking to Sam and Bucky at the dinner table, and Sam is pretending to be paying full attention to him instead of imagining what it would be like if Steve and Bucky used him as a human seesaw.   
  
This is Sam's life now, basically. A human in a super-human world, fantasizing at five o'clock in the afternoon about his body being a playground for two enhanced horny bastards. He needs to go home, see his mama, get slapped back down to reality or something.    
  
"I gave it up, I'm not Captain America anymore, but apparently people want that. Symbol to the nation or some shit."   
  
Sam thinks, hmm. What if he could get both of them to suck him off. Together. Fuck.   
  
"Sam could be Captain America."   
  
Hearing his name draws Sam's mind back. "Do what now?"   
  
"They want a Captain America. You could be Captain America," Bucky says.   
  
Sam scowls. "No. I'm the Falcon. Why don't  _ you _ be Captain America?"   
  
"Oh yeah," Bucky answers sarcastically. "A brainwashed Hydra assassin as Captain America, that'll go over real well. Why don't I run for president while I'm at it?"   
  
"Might be an improvement," Steve says, not even joking. "Bucky has a point though.  _ I _ don't necessarily have to be Cap. It's just a symbol, not tied to me."   
  
Sam sighs. "I just wanna know when we can go home."   


 

* * *

  
  
He watches a trickle of sweat glide down the valley between Bucky's shoulder blades before catching it with his tongue, licking the cool skin up the length of his spine. "I missed you," Sam murmurs into a mess of brown hair.   
  
"I live here," Bucky whines, mostly because his voice gets strained and high when Sam's inside of him. It's cute as hell, honestly. "How could you miss me?"   
  
"I'm talking about  _ good _ Bucky." Sam nips at Bucky's shoulder, pushing him deeper into the mattress.   
  
"Gotta take the bad with the good, baby."   
  
That's a lot easier said than done. "Sounds like permission to hate-fuck bad Bucky to me."   
  
Bucky drops his head, giggling. "Are you trying to make me horny? It's not enough that you're already fucking me?"   
  
"Nope. Not enough." Sam grabs a handful of ass, squeezing until he can make out little dimples in the skin.    
  
Steve clears his throat loudly.   
  
Wait.   
  
_ Steve? _   
  
Sam shifts his gaze to the door of his bedroom, where's Steve's standing with his arms crossed like a disappointed father. "Good to see you two finally getting along," he remarks sarcastically.   
  
What the hell is Sam supposed to do here? Does he pull out? Fuck harder just to drive the point home? Invite Steve to join? Die on the spot? Maybe if he just...flattens himself on top of Bucky. Yeah. That's...no, it's not any better.   
  
"Stevie," Bucky says. He waves timidly. "This is awkward."   
  
Sam frowns and does nothing else. He's afraid to move. "Thought you were with the Accords committee again."   
  
"Session ended early. Sorry to, ah, interrupt." Steve steps into the bedroom. An invitation is starting to look like the best option here, but Sam's not an orgy guy. Although, he's never been a secretly-fuck-two-old-guys kinda guy either, and yet here he fucking is, buried inside one of them with his ass bared to the other.   
  
Bucky's right. It's awkward. Even a blanket or sheet or something to cover up with would be better, but damn.   
  
"Steve, I'm sorry," Sam starts, but Steve crosses the room in two strides and presses a finger to his lips to stop him.   
  
"Shh." Leaning on the bed, Steve whispers in Sam's ear. "Keep fucking him."   
  
Sam furrows his brow. "Steve?"   
  
Bucky does the same. "Sam?"   
  
Steve slaps Sam across the ass, hard. It stings gloriously and he jerks forward.   
  
"Oh God," Bucky moans.   
  
Sam Wilson is not an orgy guy, but he's about to become one. He meets Steve's eyes with a challenging glare. "You staying or leaving, Cap?"   
  
Blinking in surprise, Steve's mouth wordlessly drops open. Then just as quickly he turns it around, tugging his tee shirt over his head. "You're too gentle with him," he instructs.   
  
And Sam just rolls his eyes, because Steve doesn't do anything gently and obviously can't appreciate that others do. "He doesn't like rough."   
  
"Sure he does." Steve smirks knowingly. "Don'tcha, Buck?"   
  
Bucky closes his eyes and bites his bottom lip, nodding.    
  
"Jesus Christ," Sam breathes. "Jesus  _ fucking _ Christ."   
  
"It's not a big deal, Sam," Bucky mutters into his arm. "It was like, seventy years ago."   
  
"Not a big deal," Sam grumbles, but then Steve is kissing him and shoving two fingers into Bucky's mouth, and isn't that just typical Steve Rogers? Taking command of a situation at all times, even when Sam is literally fucking his childhood best friend in the ass.   
  
"Sam." Steve draws his name out, leaning his forehead against Sam's. "I told you to fuck him."   
  
His heart is already pumping harder than it should be, but yeah, okay. He can do this. Sam teases him softly, "Always so bossy," then grabs Bucky's hips, thrusting hard into him.   
  
" _ Fuck _ ," Bucky groans around Steve's fingers, twisting his head to get them out of his mouth. "And you haven't figured that out by now?"   
  
Another thrust, another groan. "I figured it out a long time ago, doesn't mean I don't need to tell him about himself every once in a while."   
  
"You guys wanna shut up? I'm right here."   
  
Making fun of Steve while he's trying to top them both in bed is the kind of fun that Sam never thought of before but is hella glad he's getting to do it right now. He nuzzles Bucky's neck. "Was he always this bad?"   
  
"Worse," Bucky sighs. "Should have seen him when he was tiny. Like a Rottweiler trapped in a Chihuahua's body."    
  
Sam's laugh catches in his throat. A spit slick finger presses between his cheeks, and just like that, he's putty in Steve's hands. Goddamn him.   
  
"Are you two quite done?" Steve bristles.   
  
"Done, sorry," and Steve rewards the good behavior by sliding the tip of his finger inside of him. Sam hisses into Bucky's back. He can't decide whether he wants to move forward or backwards. Win-win situation, really.   
  
Bucky's a little too impatient to wait on Sam's internal debate on the ins and outs of threesomes. He rises to his elbows, impaling himself on Sam's dick while simultaneously forcing Sam to take in more of Steve's finger. This time, all three moan in unison.   
  
Both. That's the answer to every this-or-that question Sam will ever ask himself.   
  
Steve or Bucky? Haha,  _ both _ .   
  
Sam wraps an arm around Bucky's waist, pulling him back with him against Steve again. Steve curls his finger, grazing Sam's prostate. The jolt jerks him forward, Bucky rebounds again, and that human seesaw fantasy he'd had is coming pretty damn close to being a reality.   
  
"Buck," Steve says, low and sweet. "Be a doll and toss me that bottle?"   
  
A bottle of lube flies over Sam's head and a wrapped condom nearly takes an eye out. "Careful with my Sammy, please. Don't break him."   
  
" _ Your _ Sam, huh?" Steve asks. He speaks to Bucky, but his attention never wavers from Sam, especially not after easing a second and third finger inside him. "Well,  _ my _ Sam likes to get broken, sorry."   
  
Meanwhile, Sam's brain is breaking down. He knows Steve, knows what he's planning, and has no idea if it will even work.   
  
"Really?" Bucky looks over his shoulder appreciatively. "Break him, then."   
  
"Guys," Sam gasps. Old guys, he means. "I believe the term is wrecked."   
  
"Okay, wreck him, then." Bucky shrugs, rolls his hips, and Sam's pretty sure he's already halfway to wrecked/broken/destroyed/whatever anyway.    
  
At this point Sam's just holding on for dear life and hoping that being the meat in a super-soldier sandwich doesn't give his simple human heart an infarction. It seems that every moment with these two feels like life or death, even when it's not. Sam's an adrenaline junkie anyway, so when he hears the rip of foil behind him he just thinks, yeah, fuck him up. He can handle it, and if he can't, what a fucking way to go.   
  


While Steve’s burning up hot and Bucky’s freezing cold, Sam is the happy medium in between them. Solid, stable, and thank God, flexible.

Steve's murmuring into his ear, "Breathe," and Sam doesn't even realize that he'd actually stopped until he sucks in a deep breath, struggling to steady himself. Goddamn. Steve's inside him. He's inside Bucky. He's the middle man, powerless and powerful all at once. His legs and arms are shaking under the weight of Steve while holding up Bucky at the same time. This shit is intense, it's a lot, it's a  _ fucking _ lot.

  
"I don't think I can do this for long," Sam confesses shakily. He reaches back for one of Steve's hands, guiding it to Bucky's hair, like he needs to close the circle around him. "Make it count."   
  
Steve yanks Bucky's hair, arching him back against Sam, and thrusts. A guttural moan creeps out of Sam's lips, or maybe Steve's, he doesn't know. He feels, feels everything, not knowing where one ends and another begins. He's fucking them but not of his own volition, rolling like waves breaking in the ocean.   
  
"Oh God, oh  _ shit _ , oh fuck," Bucky moans, like it needs to be said but it doesn't, he's just incapable of fucking quietly. The moans, the gasps, and the talking drives Sam insane and is also ridiculously hot, and Sam just doesn't need any more fucking stimulation at the moment.    
  
"If you don't."  _ Stop moaning. _ "I'm gonna."  _ Fucking explode. _ Jesus, Steve is relentless and Bucky can handle it like a champ. "Timeout, timeout," Sam pleads. "I gotta lose one of ya, I'm sorry."   
  
"Me,  _ shit _ , you guys are crushing me," Bucky volunteers, crawling out from under the pile. Sam misses him as soon as he's gone but he can breathe again at least. Steve pulls away too, peeling off Sam's condom without even asking and no, this isn't what he wanted.   
  
"What if you?" Sam makes grabby hands at Bucky and opens his mouth because English, what is that? But Bucky gets it and curses under his breath, sliding off the bed. Then Steve gets it and curses under  _ his _ breath, wrapping his arms under Sam's chest to shift them to the edge of the bed.   
  
Steve's cradling him, stroking his chest. "You need a longer break?"    
  
Maybe Steve's regretting trying to ruin him or something but he is fine, dammit, he's a big boy who is more than capable of voicing his likes and dislikes. "I don't need a break, I need his cock in my mouth," Sam replies testily.   
  
"I think I'm in love with him, Steve," Bucky whines.   
  
"Your dick is in love with him, Bucky."   
  
Sam's still making grabby hands. "You'll hate me again three days, I can promise you that."   
  
"Naaah," Bucky drawls. He's stroking himself and Sam can't tear his eyes away, damn near parched with the need to taste the pearly drop of pre-cum leaking from the tip. "I could never hate those pretty lips, could I?"   
  
"So pretty." Steve cups Sam's jaw, thumbing over his bottom lip while Bucky grins down at them.   
  
"He is beautiful like this, isn't he?"   
  
Oh shit. They're working together now.   
  
With his thumb squeezing at the head, Bucky guides his cock to Sam's lips, tracing their curves, painting them shiny and wet. Despite his efforts to maintain some semblance of control over his own horny ass, Sam whimpers and his eyelids flutter like he's about to lose consciousness.    
  
Sam clenches his jaw when Steve lines up and slides inside him, much gentler this time thankfully. He tugs at Sam's chin. "Open up."   
  
He wonders, opening his mouth and taking as much of Bucky in as he can, if Steve and Bucky have done this before. He also kinda doesn't want to know if they've done this before, like maybe he's special. Bucky wipes at the corner of his eyes, cradling his face as he praises every goddamn thing he can think of. It's nice, makes it feel like he actually is special, and gives him a focal point because this is easier than before but still intense as hell.   
  
"Can I?" Bucky asks. Sam sucks harder, deeper as his answer, until Bucky's words disappear and he comes, cool and sweet, into Sam's mouth. This guy...Sam's still trying to figure out how Bucky is even something that exists in his world.   
  
"Sam?" Steve's voice is deep, his breathing erratic, and that literally never happens. "You still with me?"   
  
"Mm good," Sam mumbles. Bucky kneels before him, licking his lips and into his mouth, then Steve is tugging Bucky back onto the bed so he can kiss him, too.    
  
Like, kissing  _ a lot _ . It's hot but  _ still _ . Sam clears his throat impatiently and earns a swat on the ass for it.   
  
"So needy," Steve chides him. "Bucky, assistance?"   
  
Bucky nods. "Flip over, he's got a thing for the metal arm."   
  
"I do not," Sam protests while Steve rolls them over. A rush of cold air hits his damp skin and he shivers, craving a warm blanket and an unspecified snuggle buddy.   
  
"He does," Bucky reiterates, curling his cool fist around Sam's length and stroking in tandem with Steve's subtle hip movements. One, two, three, four, and Sam's spilling onto his belly and Bucky's hand. Oh, it's good. Not in a mind-blowing way, but in the  _ he earned this sweet release and that fucking hand is hot _ way.   
  
Bucky begins to lick his hand clean and Steve groans, jerking beneath Sam, losing it just at that image. Apparently Sam's not the only one with a metal arm kink.   
  
He's not sure who cleaned up the mess - Steve if he had to guess - but Sam wakes up a few hours later with a sleeping Bucky on one side of him and a snoring Steve on the other. Their fingers are linked together over Sam's hip, the light of the full moon through the window casting a glow over the flesh on metal on flesh.   
  
This, Sam thinks, is some good lunar shit.   


 

* * *

  
  
No one is saying what they're all thinking.   
  
It should be weird, right? A night of debauchery with bros should at least warrant a few awkward glances or stuttered conversations, but no. It's all fine and fucking dandy. Bucky makes French toast for breakfast, and Steve greets both Sam and Bucky with kisses before sitting at the table with a cup of coffee.    
  
Seriously, it should be weirder than that.   
  
"So, uh," Sam initiates. "Everything go okay with the Accords meeting?"   
  
"Great actually. The session ended early, we came to an agreement on the final issue." Steve takes a bite of French toast. "Fuck, this is good."   
  
Bucky turns the griddle off and leans against the kitchen counter. Understandably, he looks a little tense now. "What was the final issue?"   
  
Steve shoves another bite in his mouth, talking with his mouth full. "Amnesty."   
  
"We're going home?" Sam makes eye contact pointedly with Bucky. "All of us?"   
  
"If you sign, yes. And you might as well 'cause if you don't, T'Challa's kicking you out."   
  
Bucky narrows his eyes. "You'd think he would've mentioned all of this last night."   
  
"Sorry." Steve shrugs. "Got a little distracted."   
  
"Horny," Bucky says. "You got a little horny."   
  
"Can you blame me?"   
  
"Yeah," Sam teases. "Yeah, I can, and I think I will."   
  
Steve claps his hands together excitedly. "Speaking of horny, I've got a great idea for a contest to see who's going to be the next Captain America."   
  
This is Sam's life now. Saving the world, superhero costumes, mood swings, and occasional all-night fuck sessions with his serum enhanced boyfriends. All in all? He can't complain.

**Author's Note:**

> Come see me on [tumblr](http://anthonystan.tumblr.com) and yell at me about shit!


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